


play to win

by finalizer



Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9050056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finalizer/pseuds/finalizer
Summary: “There’s a 50/50 chance of disaster," Cassian warned. But warnings like that had never worked at preventing anything, ever, especially when Jyn was involved.Or, a certain girl plays matchmaker for her father.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a Much Needed everybody lives modern coffeeshop au aka A Knockoff Teenage Romantic Comedy Featuring Multiple Gay Dads (+ i'm toning down on krennic's evilness for the sake of the story. can't have a egomaniacal jackass roaming around this innocent suburbia)

Jyn immediately realized something was off the moment her father failed to open up the café at eight o’clock on the dot. He was running late: whether it was caused by some lagging paperwork in the back office, Galen wiping down the tables he’d forgotten to tend to the previous night, or even the general aura of reluctance floating about the dimly lit room.

“Everything alright, papa?” she asked, because though it was Sunday, and any rational person would see it within their rights to take it slow, Galen Erso never did.

Without looking up from his work, Galen hummed noncommittally. “Of course, Stardust,” and there was no arguing with the genuine tone of voice, regardless of whether or not he was telling the whole truth.

Still, Jyn had her doubts. And when Jyn had doubts, she had a penchant for doing whatever it took to get to the bottom of the mess. So, really, that’s when the whole thing began.

 

/

 

“There’s a chance I won’t make it on time. Or at all.”

“And if I ask nicely?”

“If you just write the paper _for_ me, the odds of me finishing in time for the movie are greater.”

Cassian sighed on the other line, and Jyn looked up at the ceiling, her legs restlessly dangling off the side of the bed.

“You should have started earlier,” he finally said. “You’re notoriously no good at physics.”

“I was required downstairs all morning. My father’s out of it today, I can’t seem to place why, and everything was on me ‘til Bodhi clocked in.”

Cassian was silent for a while; his specific brand of compassion thoroughly nonverbal. Then: “I meant, you should have started the paper weeks ago, Jyn, when it was assigned. You need better time management.”

“I need motivation,” she countered. “Look, I’ll meet you downstairs in ten and we’ll walk K-2 together, but we’ve got to reschedule the movie date.”

More meaningful silence from the other end.

“Cassian? Come on, don’t get frowny. I’ll see you soon.”

And because they were relatively advanced in couple’s telepathic communication, it wasn’t at all worrying when the line clicked and went dead. Cassian had hung up but he was bound to show at the meeting spot regardless.

Jyn tapped the red button and tossed her phone off to the side, where it landed safely amongst her sparse cushions. She closed her eyes and cursed the damned professor for getting in the way of her social interactions, especially those with Cassian.

Cassian Andor. Dark hair, bright eyes, a smile that could light up an entire football stadium. Deadly when angry, determined but compassionate, and generally the most selfless person Jyn had ever met.

And Jyn _—_  she more often than not forgot to brush her teeth before crawling into bed at night.

He was miles out of her league and she did not want to keep him waiting.

Walking K-2 around the block didn’t exactly warrant an extreme makeover, and Jyn was content with throwing on her jacket and slipping out the door. The bustle from the café downstairs was audible throughout the corridor when she stepped out and fumbled for her keys. It was entirely unsurprising when she dropped them, spit out a bundle of curses as she crouched to retrieve them, and groaned as she made her second attempt.

It was slightly embarrassing, that of the two apartments above the café, hers was always the loudest: what with her general clumsiness, and her father’s predilection for creative cooking that often led to the smoke alarm blaring off the hook until someone took mercy and threw a shoe at it.

The married couple next door made no sound, were no trouble in the slightest, kept no pets, were never late with the rent, never seemed to argue or have anyone over. Perfect tenants, in Galen’s opinion. Exceptionally suspicious, in Jyn’s.

But despite their odd rule-following ways, they were wonderful people, and Jyn made a mental note to bring them a pie from downstairs in the nearest future, just for the sake of human interaction, something she desperately lacked, and desperately needed.

 

/

 

“Now, see, you’re right,” Jyn said, once she’d gotten past the initial shock of seeing K-2 the charcoal greyhound dressed up in a festive doggy sweater, “I would skip class tomorrow, have my father call in and say I’m sick.”

“But?”

“Report cards, Cassian. Tomorrow. Ring a bell?”

“Vaguely.”

“Because you’re perfect and the stress of grades doesn’t concern you.”

Cassian grinned. “Why, thank you.”

They turned a corner, Jyn rolling her eyes, Cassian tightening his grip around her gloved hand in a gesture of comfort.

“You don’t have to go with your father,” he offered.

Jyn grimaced. “I do. Rules are rules.”

“Not if you’re sick.”

“But I’m not. And my father knows I’m not. And he’d never let this slide. I’m perfectly screwed and I’ve got to write the paper before first period tomorrow, or Krennic’s going to have a field day listing all my missing assignments at the meeting. He’s gonna fail me for sure.”

“I had him last year. I passed. It’s doable.”

Jyn stopped in her tracks, turned to face Cassian and looked up at him with all her petite sized fury. It looked more like resignation. “I’m a hopeless case. If I don’t ace this assignment I’m good as dead. If I don’t do _—_   _something_ , anything, I’m gonna get held back another year. Honestly, it’d be a godsend to have some dirt on him, so I could blackmail him into rounding my grade up to a damned C.”

She was scheming, and Cassian knew better than to let her ideas fester and boil out of control.

“Shh _—_  okay,” he broke in, before she could search the dark web for a hitman to take out her horrid physics professor, “here’s what you do: go home, make yourself tea, lock the room, switch off your phone, and focus on the paper. The movie can wait. Tomorrow, next week, whenever. First step of your time management course is prioritizing the important matters.”

Jyn cracked a grin, despite her best intentions, because Cassian was a miracle incarnate, and snickered fondly whenever she smiled wide enough to expose her teeth _—_  she hated them with a passion, thought them overlarge and irksome, and Cassian would insist he wouldn’t change a thing and kissed her breathless if she carried on complaining. It was one of the many things that’d become routine.

“Off you go, rebel,” he instructed, giving her a nudge in the right direction, poking at her lower back until she started back off in the direction of the café. “Work hard.”

 

/

 

Jyn had come back from school dead tired. Half her night had been consumed with writing the damned paper, the other with a light, restless sleep. At least Krennic had accepted her work without hesitation, unlike Draven’s, who hadn’t double spaced his paragraphs and was immediately rejected.

There was hope after all.

She pushed open the door to the café and pulled off her hat, shaking it out onto the floor despite Galen’s constant pleas not to do just that.

There was no line at the counter for a change, and a blessed few seats were taken up by the usual clientele.

She made a beeline for the lone employee standing watch.

“Have you seen my father?”

Bodhi glanced up and Jyn held back a snicker. There was a smear of flour across both his cheeks, winging out like war paint. An odd sight, considering he was solely on coffee duty that day.

He motioned backwards with his thumb, gesturing towards the closed kitchen doors. Jyn nodded and flicked her hand towards her own face, signaling that Bodhi had some cleaning up to do on his person.

Flustered, Bodhi rubbed his face clean with the bottom corner of his apron. There was something intriguing about the man _—_  painfully ambitious part-time college student, who worked at least three odd jobs during the week and buried his nose in too-thick textbooks every weekend _—_  and how quickly he went from authoritative to awkward and embarrassed. It had everything to do with the situation, Jyn assumed. He’d never felt too comfortable around her and Galen, though they’d both asked him repeatedly not to treat them as his bosses, rather friends. Jyn especially, as she was years younger than Bodhi to begin with.

“He’s, uh, he’s been shacked up in the back all day,” Bodhi said, finally using his words. “He seems to be in a big muck.”

“I noticed. Any idea why?”

“He didn’t say,” Bodhi shrugged. He wasn’t too keen on gossiping about his employer, especially with someone who had every opportunity to relay the message. Jyn figured as much, though her curiosity was fueled purely by concern.

“’Course he didn’t,” Jyn sighed. “He’s been in a mood all week.”

Without thinking, nor looking up from his work _—_  restocking the condiment section _—_  Bodhi said, “Not more than usual.”

His head snapped up, nervous, but Jyn was merely raising an eyebrow in question. She wasn’t mad about what he’d said, just inquisitive about the meaning.

“More than usual? He’s not usually gloomy,” Jyn said, but the confidence in her voice wavered. She wasn’t sure how much she knew about her father’s day-to-day behavior, in the end. Upon realizing that Bodhi wasn’t going to speak up again unless prompted, she added, “is he?”

Bodhi snapped the sugar shaker shut and set it off to the side, twirling the half-full jar of cinnamon in his hands as a distraction. “Maybe. A little. He doesn’t seem very happy.”

Jyn kept eye contact for longer than Bodhi would have liked, a million and one thoughts racing through her mind. Then, she blinked rapidly and looked away, down at the empty expanse of the counter.

A beat passed.

“Fuck,” she said, rather eloquently. “I’m sorry. I’m badgering you, and this isn’t your problem. I’m just strung out and _—_  ”

She trailed off, because Galen picked that precise moment to emerge from the kitchen, holding a tray with a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls between thickly gloved hands. He looked past Bodhi and straight at Jyn, and his face lit up with an almost-smile.

With Bodhi’s new insight into the state of things, Jyn could clearly see that not every cell in her father’s body was as content as he made it out to be. There was an undisclosed anguish, and Jyn wished she could pinpoint with precision exactly from where it stemmed.

“The meeting _—_  am I late?” Galen hurriedly asked. He tried to twist to look at the clock, but his hands were occupied and the space behind the counter awfully limited.

“It’s not for another two hours,” Jyn assured him.

Because in less two hours, her father would meet her monster of a homeroom teacher, who also happened to be the accursed physics teacher, Orson Krennic. She dreaded whatever nonsensical tales the man would spin for her father to undermine her hard work at school. She was almost under the impression that Krennic was targeting her, specifically, making her the victim of his harsh treatment. That, or she was taking after her father’s relatively paranoid habits.

“Oh, good,” Galen breathed in relief. It wouldn’t do for him to be late to the first meeting of the year, with Jyn in the graduating class, with a new set of teachers in front of which he was yet to make a good impression. Or a bad one: the possibilities were endless.

Bodhi was silently finishing up his task, pointedly _not_ eavesdropping. Though it was virtually impossible for him not to hear the conversation, he politely pretended not to. He was second in line for Cassian’s throne _—_  the kindest, most considerate soul around _—_  if not already surpassing the reigning champion.

Jyn had no idea what she’d done in a past life to be surrounded by the most amazing people the galaxy had to offer, her father included.

She cleared her throat, drawing Galen’s attention from where he’d been setting out the fresh pastries in the display windows.

“I’m gonna get some dinner,” she said, “I’ll meet you down here at five?”

It wasn’t exactly a question, more so a confirmation of pre-made plans, yet Galen nodded fervently, as if desperately vying for his daughter’s affection. Not that he ever had a chance at losing it.

Jyn half-smiled, tight lipped, and nodded to herself as Galen went back to work. Bodhi glanced up at her before she left, offering her a warm look. Words really were overabundant.

 

/

 

“How was school today?” Galen asked, glancing at his daughter for a split second before turning his attention back to the road.

Jyn spared him a pitying look.

“Fine.”

If she were to be entirely honest, she’d have to admit she and her father hadn’t had the best of relationships since three became two. Just the two of them left to balance their family life and Lyra’s café, after she was taken too suddenly, too soon.

Still, Galen tried, in his helpless way, to mend whatever was left to mend following years of silence and mistrust. He loved his daughter, and knew full well he would do anything in his power to keep her safe and happy. The only problem was, he didn’t quite know what it was he had to do yet.

“Did you turn everything in on time? That paper you were worried about?”

Jyn nodded, then realized her father couldn’t see what she was doing, focused as he was on the drive. She quickly clarified, “Yeah, papa”. It was hard to keep the underlying hostility out of her voice. It was tiresome, the small talk, and she hated beating around the bush if she could help it. Car rides were better in silence, as the snow flurried around past the windshield.

Galen took the hint and fell silent.

Jyn almost felt bad shutting him down. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to retie the strings that had once held the two of them together, and virtually inseparable; just that it was hard to find the right rhythm to begin the reparations.

Lyra had always been the bond, the glue, within the family, piecing together the less talkative, less open members and conveying whatever it is they wanted to say into words. Reasonably enough, it was hard to do so now with the key puzzle piece missing.

Jyn snapped out of her thoughts. Someone had to take initiative, after all.

“You know, I stayed up so late working on that, that I better get a hundred. Two hundred even.”

If Galen was surprised by her sudden piqued interest, he didn’t show.

“I’m sure you will, Jyn.”

Jyn scoffed. “If only you understood how purely _evil_ the dear professor is. Chances are he’ll fail me anyway.”

And with that, silence blanketed the car once more. The windshield swipers swished from side to side, further mesmerizing Jyn into blank calm. Galen had no words of comfort left, as words had never been his strong suit to begin with. And Jyn was happy enough with the fact that they’d both made a solid attempt.

The game plan was simple: make it through the conference, make it through the rest of the week, the rest of the year, the rest of high school, and move out to college. Galen would understand easily enough that Jyn needed space, and that he needed to build a life without her as the centerpiece.

Her part was easy, that much Jyn knew. Galen, however, had the tough job of finding something, someone, to occupy his mind. He had to move on.

 

/

 

It had been an exceptionally awkward minute since Galen had first walked into the classroom, and Jyn was now looking between her father and her physics professor as they engaged in an apparent wordless staring contest.

They’d walked inside, Galen trailing behind his daughter in nervous anticipation: whether in fear of making a bad impression, or finding out that Jyn hadn’t made nice during her first semester at the new school. That, and Galen was a generally hesitant individual; an inherent character flaw.

The infamous teacher _—_  one Orson Krennic _—_  had had his head down, skimming through Jyn’s files, as if picking out which of her missteps to highlight during his evaluation.

It hadn’t been until Jyn and Galen were seated that Krennic looked up and locked eyes with her father, that Jyn realized something was awfully wrong.

An eternity passed in suffocating silence, then:

“Galen.”

“Krennic,” her father greeted in return, although clipped, pointedly omitting the first name familiarity that the professor had insisted upon.

Jyn was no friend of awkward silence. She had questions, and questions demanded answers.

“Is there something I ought to know?” she inquired, pulling her eyes away from her teacher’s tense expression, and staring her father down. “Do you know each other?”

Galen cleared his throat and, without dropping Krennic’s gaze, tilted his head to the side towards Jyn. There never was any use hiding anything from his daughter. “We _—_  your _—_  Krennic and I _—_  we went to school together. University. It was a lifetime ago.”

There was an entirely unprofessional scoff on Krennic’s part, wholly out of place during an official conference, as he deemed it necessary to fill the gaps in Galen’s statement. “Roommates. Very best of friends, actually,” he explained, a radical degree of bitterness slipping into his tone, whether he was aware of it or not, “until your father graduated, and moved along.”

Jyn said nothing, did nothing, though she briefly considered nodding in acknowledgement. There was something frightfully awkward about the tension, something Jyn couldn’t quite place yet.

“You look surprised, Galen,” Krennic went on, sticking to the informal address, “to see me, I mean. Surely there isn’t that many people with my name running about the area. I would have thought you knew who to expect.”

Jyn tried to speak, but Galen interrupted. It was more of a surprise to the former than the latter, as Galen completely failed to notice his untoward actions.

“Jyn never did mention you by name. A pity.”

The unease thickened, and Jyn tried to place the source. A quick scan of her professor’s expression told her little: a sense of familiarity, dissatisfaction, perhaps grievance. Still, it said nothing of its origins. One thing, however, became apparent.

“But _you_ did know who _I_ was?” Jyn demanded, none too politely, turning to Krennic. “Or, at least, who my father was? You knew all along, and said nothing?”

Krennic paused in consideration. “I suspected.”

“Oh _, please_ , you knew.”

Galen watched the exchange, expressionless. He didn’t bother to chastise Jyn on her poor manners toward her superiors. Maybe it was the unadulterated distaste marring his features that led Jyn to believe he disliked Krennic just as much as she did, if not more. Something had definitely gone wrong between them in the past, and facts were beginning to fall into place.

“I knew nothing for certain,” Krennic insisted. It was his blanket of immunity, in case Jyn decided to pin his unfair treatment of her on his history with her father, and claim he was using the new opportunities he had to lash out on ancient injustices. “Though, how many Ersos can there possibly be, right?”

“Krennic, if there’s something you wish to settle, I suggest we do it on our own time,” Galen suddenly snapped, out of nowhere, as if noticing a subtle shift in Krennic’s temperament that Jyn hadn’t had the skills to sense.

Krennic sucked in a breath through gritted teeth, fingers twitching as he resisted balling them into fists. He had self-control, unlike what Galen used to think. “I daresay we settled everything when you quit.”

“Quit what?” Jyn piped up, but Galen ignored it entirely, firing back at Krennic.

“I quit because I had to, not because I didn’t care about the project. You know that. Stop making yourself out to be the victim here, Krennic.”

“You walked out on me without notice,” Krennic said coldly, dangerously toeing the line between unprofessional and outright rude, “to suit your own fancy.”

“You’re twisting this to your favor.”

“I’m stating facts.”

“I left for my family.”

“Oh, how convenient.”

Galen sharply pushed his chair back and stood, letting it slide across the floor behind him. Jyn watched in perplexed silence as he hovered above the desk, challenging Krennic’s glare.

“You knew full well about Lyra,” he snarled. It was a sound Jyn had never heard from her father before. There was too much she didn’t know. “About everything that led downhill. These slights of yours are imagined, Orson.”

The tension boiled to a peak, punctuated by the shrill ring of the bell in the outside corridor, signaling both a passing hour, and the end of the meeting. Not that it had ever begun, which didn’t bother Jyn in the slightest. What did, however, were the million unanswered questions that were only beginning to fall under a specific category.

She chose to interrupt in the most innocent manner possible.

“Are we _—_  going to discuss my grades? At any point?”

Galen pushed himself off the surface of the desk, heavily dropping back down into his seat. Krennic’s lips were pursed in displeasure.

For all intents and purposes, Jyn knew it was only bound to get more complicated from there on out.

 

/

 

One _read at 6:56 PM_   notification later, Jyn was waiting in the back-most booth for Cassian to meet her at the designated diner. It was relatively secluded, occupied by a blessed few, and run by the most patient woman Jyn had ever met in her life. It was a go-to getaway location whenever Jyn needed space, and on such occasions only Cassian knew where to find her.

The moment the man in question slipped into the seat across from Jyn’s, she leaned forward and clasped her hands in front of her to accentuate her distress.

“I think my father and my professor used to be an item,” she whispered, conveying her suspicion out loud for the first time. It was a shock to her to hear the words leave her lips, to say the least.

Cassian frowned. “Which one?”

Jyn mirrored his expression. “Physics.”

Cassian’s frown deepened almost comically. “Krennic?” he guessed, and his tone was nothing if not incredulous.

“Yes, Krennic.”

Cassian huffed, suddenly unreadable, and promptly stood up, and headed straight for the counter. He leaned across the marble countertop and exchanged a few pleasantries with the owner, put in an order: his and Jyn’s usual. He must have figured the conversation Jyn had planned was not something he wanted to experience un-caffeinated and on an empty stomach.

He laid down a few bills, plus a generous tip in advance, and stalked back over to his spot.

“What makes you think that?” he inquired, slipping right back into the topic he’d unexpectedly walked away from.

“They went to college together,” Jyn began, and Cassian immediately knew it was going to be a long night, “for starters. Later, from what I gathered, there was a common job at some point, too. A project they were both working on, I think. And Krennic claimed my father flaked out on him. _Lord_ , it was fucking _odd_. It was the weirdest parent-teacher conference I’ve experienced in my life. They were millimeters away from fighting it out right there in the classroom. _So_ much bitterness, _so_ much tension. I haven’t seen anything like it since Leia broke up with Solo in front of the entire school.”

“Sounds like a friendship gone bad,” Cassian pointed out, sticking to factoids rather than assumptions. “Not really a relationship.”

Jyn opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut as a waiter came within earshot, carrying a single tray with their orders. She patiently waited as everything was distributed, then scanned her burger with hungry eyes. It could wait. That, and the fries, and the coffee. There was gossip to debunk first.

Cassian had no such qualms. He was fine listening to Jyn babble on with his mouth blessedly full.

Jyn ordered her thoughts in her mind, not fully sure of what she’d heard back in the classroom. “There was something about my mum. Krennic was making accusations, and my father brought her up. A jealous paramour gone bad, more like. Maybe one-sided. I’m just now realizing I don’t know anything about who my father before he married my mother.”

Cassian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and swallowed before he spoke up. There was something to be said for common courtesy. And charm, of course, not that he lacked any.

“You’re going on very little details here.”

Jyn leaned forward. “You should have _seen_ them. I felt like I was intruding.”

Cassian said nothing in return, and silence quickly fell. He nodded at the plate in front of Jyn, reminding her about her priorities. Food before conspiracy theories.

Jyn huffed in childish disdain and dug in.

It was a moment before either of them spoke again, and it was Cassian who piped up first.

“Are you going to ask him about it? Your dad?”

“How awkward would that be?” Jyn grimaced. “Hey, papa, did you maybe hook up with my physics teacher back when you were my age? I need to know, for science.”

“Try subtlety,” Cassian prompted.

Jyn raised an eyebrow, but played along. “Hey, papa, are you even into guys?”

“A little more subtle.”

“Hey, papa, can I maybe get a list of all your exes from your past? Early to mid-twenties, specifically, if I may.”

To that, Cassian said nothing. He figured there were only so many ways to ask one’s father if he’d once had an affair with one’s hated physics professor.

For a while, the two of them focused on their meals, Cassian enjoying every last bit, while Jyn distantly took tiny sips of her coffee. Black, because throwing in milk and sugar wasn’t something her lazy self had ever wanted to waste time doing.

She managed to take exactly one hesitant bite of her burger before her genius struck again, throwing yet another brilliant idea her way.

“Bodhi said _—_  when I talked to Bodhi this afternoon, he said my father looked lonely,” Jyn started. “I assume he is, since my mum died, right? I’m awful, and I haven’t been paying enough attention, but there’s no one more perceptive than Bodhi, and I trust him with my life _—_  ”

Cassian sounded wary. “What are you getting at?”

“Whatever happened between my father and Krennic can be fixed. Any hole can be patched up. Whatever happened was years ago _—_  they have to forgive and forget at some point, and if I sort-of play matchmaker in the midst, who’s to judge? I’ll be the catalyst.”

“You don’t know what happened back then.”

“How bad could it have possibly been?” Jyn wasn’t disheartened. “Only good can come of this.”

Cassian, level headed as always, didn’t seem convinced. “Jyn. You’re going on very, very limited information here. The results could easily enough be tragic.”

Jyn shot him a suggestive smile, almost seductive in its pure glee. “Live a little, Cassian.”

He tipped his glass back, draining the last of his coffee. He had never been any good at telling Jyn no. She was addictive, as was the rush her stupid, stupid ideas instilled in his very bones.

“So, either you fuck up and Krennic fails you on the spot,” Cassian offered, right off the bat, “or everything goes marvelously and you become the teacher’s pet.”

Jyn, mouth full of fries, waved a hand. “You’re focused on Krennic. I really don’t care. I want to get my father out of his hermit muck. Heaven knows he’s not one for online dating. This is the next best shot, and I’ve got to take it.”

“There’s a 50/50 chance of disaster.”

Jyn looked positively radiant right then: chock full of radical ideas running through her brilliant mind, mischievous as ever.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”


	2. Chapter 2

_“Heard you were passed out in the bathroom for a few hours earlier today. People kept banging at the door but you were out cold.”_

_Orson startled awake, head swinging up from where it’d lay across his desktop. Galen stood with his back to his roommate, shoes still on. He’d just come inside._

_“Didn’t sleep much the past week.” Orson’s grumble was hardly coherent, traces of his thick, native accent slipping past his barely-conscious defenses. He squeezed his bleary eyes shut in an attempt to regain some semblance of focus. “Guess it all caught up with me at once.”_

_Galen turned, leveled Orson with an unimpressed look. “If only you took time out of your busy schedule during the semester to study instead of cramming it all in the week before finals. Try it next time, maybe, instead of whoring yourself out late at night.”_

_There was nothing but lighthearted teasing in his tone, the allegations notwithstanding. Galen took a few steps closer, not that Orson noticed in his trancelike, thoroughly exhausted state, and dropped to a crouch beside the cheap, plastic chair at the desk. He looked up at Orson with an odd mixture of patronizing exasperation and satisfaction, and waited for a reply to his witty comment. Maybe this feeling within his chest was true contentment. Maybe this was the infamous, so-called_ love _._

_“I don’t — whore myself out,” Orson insisted, following a far too long pause as he fumbled for the right words. “I’m in a — committed, long-term relationship.”_

_Galen shifted his weight from one leg to the other, tilting his head to the side in mock interest as Orson finally opened his eyes, glazed over with sleep, and focused on Galen._

_“Oh?” Galen prompted. “Who with?”_

_Orson grimaced and shut his eyes for the briefest of moments, before making eye contact again. He let out an inelegant grunt of faux displeasure, and leaned forward and down until he was almost at Galen’s level. There was a split second when it seemed he was on the verge of toppling over, off-balance, straight into Galen’s arms, though chances were neither would be opposed if such a thing were to happen._

_“Don’t be a smartass,” Orson countered cleverly, because his oratory skills were not at their finest without at least five hours of sleep a night, let alone a restless week. He leaned even closer, and Galen made the smart move of closing the gap between them before Orson could quite literally tumble out of his chair._

_The kiss was brief and familiar, lingering in all the right ways, and Galen melted into the embrace with a hunger nearly matching the other’s. There was something about Orson, with his quick temperament and incorrigible impulsiveness, that entirely faded away when met with affection. A lonely, touch-starved individual, however pathetic that made him out to be. Galen adored it. He adored_ him _._

_Of course, nothing that good could last forever. It was things like that — the quiet, perfect moments — that were torn from one’s grasp suddenly and without warning._

 

/

 

Jyn knocked on the front door across from her own and waited, boots shuffling against the welcome mat, tin foil wrapped pie grasped between both hands: cherry, freshly baked, confiscated from the kitchen without her father’s knowledge. Not that he’d mind.

The door swung open and Jyn immediately plastered on her friendliest smile, making herself out to be more approachable than she usually went for.

Baze Malbus, permanently bitter and truly worn-out, stood in all his pajama-clad glory across the threshold. The ragged flannel bottoms did nothing to soften his dangerous appearance; though it was all a well woven illusion, a façade put on to dishearten potential enemies. He was a gentle soul, all marshmallows and cotton balls on the inside.

It was the other one that Jyn was more worried about.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted, and stepped aside to allow her entry. He spoke little, conveying the majority of his emotions through various tones of grunts and scoffs. He refrained from voicing his opinion lest it was utterly necessary to impede someone from punching his dear husband in the nose again, on the not-so-rare occasions the latter opened his big mouth and pissed off the wrong people.

For someone who was no trouble at all, Chirrut was a whole load of trouble.

And said menace was seated on the living room couch, legs up on the coffee table like he knew they shouldn’t be there, yet he reclined anyway.

“Hello, Jyn,” he said, a knowing tinge to his voice. Jyn felt as though he immediately knew the purpose behind her visit, the one that had nothing to do with bringing her wonderful neighbors pie as an altruistic offering. He had a sixth sense of some sort, that much was evident.

The door banged shut behind her, and Jyn was familiar enough with the apartment and its inhabitants not to linger awkwardly in the foyer, instead stalking over to where Chirrut was seated, and setting down her gift.

“I don’t want to seem _too_ nice,” she explained, “but I brought you something from downstairs. Just don’t get all mushy with gratitude on me.”

Chirrut cracked a genuine smile in appreciation of her dry sarcasm. Baze, however, seemed unmoved as ever, disappearing into the kitchen with a poorly intelligible mumble about tea.

The moment he was out of earshot, Chirrut turned his head in Jyn’s general direction, milky blue eyes focused on a spot beyond her.

“What is it you need?”

Jyn looked appalled, then schooled her face back into an impassive mask once she remembered Chirrut couldn’t see her feigned offense. He was too good; a lie detector disguised in a human body.

“Why do you immediately assume I need something?”

“You come bearing gifts.”

“I have my moments.”

“You have a wave of unease around you,” Chirrut argued. “I could tell from the moment you knocked.”

Jyn snorted, unladylike as all hell, and plopped down on the couch at his side. “No fucking way you did. Next you’ll be claiming you can make things float with your mind.”

Chirrut seemed to consider this. “I’m working on it.”

A comfortable silence spanned a few minutes, Jyn relishing in the rare occasion where Chirrut remained quiet and kept his brilliant comments to himself. He was a handful, most of the time, but he and Baze balanced out, in the end.

“Did you bring plates?” Chirrut asked suddenly, before Jyn even realized Baze had entered the room. “Forks? The pie smells incredible.”

“Of course I did.”

Butter them up and watch them melt like putty in your grasp, was Jyn’s vicious attack of choice. And her father’s desserts were to die for.

Baze set everything down on the table, headed back to the kitchen to retrieve the tea he’d made. The two seemed entirely unperturbed by Jyn’s sudden, unwarranted arrival, as if they’d been expecting a guest all along. That, or their hospitality was phenomenal, and Jyn ought to have been taking notes for future reference.

A quarter of an hour and one pot of heavenly green tea later, Jyn was ready to get down to business, semi-ulterior motives at the ready. Chirrut was ready to say _I told you so._

“You’ve known my father for a while, right? You knew my mum?” she asked, starting off as vaguely as possible.

Chirrut hummed in consideration and set down his own teacup. “You know we did. Ask what you came to ask.”

It was annoying to be met with someone as direct as herself, Jyn realized, though it was different with Chirrut. For him it came naturally: the confidence, the self-assuredness, a clear path of what to do and when to do it. For Jyn, it was simply offense instead of defense; gaining the upper hand in every situation.

Jyn sighed. “Has he ever spoken about his past? People from his past?” She paused, taking in Baze’s pointed look, then added: “Past flings?”

There it was.

“So, what you’re asking is, have we ever gotten your father sufficiently drunk,” Chirrut clarified, because of course Galen Erso wouldn’t open up without a proper percentage flowing through his veins.

Jyn waited for the punchline, gaze drifting between her two hosts to see who would crack the tension.

“We have,” Baze finally answered, quite smugly at that.

“And?” Jyn demanded. There was no use trying to hide her true intentions at this point. She wanted answers, Baze and Chirrut had answers, she would not stop badgering them until they handed them over.

“We don’t know names,” Baze said.

“He never went into specifics,” Chirrut echoed, in sync with the previous reply. “But there was evidently someone in the past. Just one _—_  at school.”

Jyn frowned. “What happened?”

“Your father graduated. Moved out, and moved along. He met your mother and got married,” Chirrut said.

“That’s it?” Jyn pushed. She wanted more. She needed a canvas to paint the full picture on.

“We said we don’t know much,” Baze repeated. “Invite your father over, if you want. We have a leftover bottle of whiskey from Chirrut’s last birthday.”

Jyn huffed, leaning over towards the still-warm pot and pouring herself another serving of tea. She dropped in a sugar cube for the sake of it, because they were available, and made her feel fancy.

“Right,” she said. “Let’s assume, for a moment, that I came across the aforementioned individual, and I know that’s not all there is to the story. Would you have anything to add, then?”

Chirrut and Baze shared a look, which made very little sense to Jyn, considering Chirrut’s disability. Perhaps it was a telepathic conversation, one she couldn’t decipher if she tried.

“If _—_  ” Chirrut started, “ _—_  if this is the same individual we speak of, then I do believe they came across your father once more, after he’d already met Lyra. A research project at the Institute. They were partners.”

“Sounds about right,” Jyn muttered. Puzzle pieces were beginning to fall into place.

“When your mother fell ill,” Chirrut continued, disregarding the comment, “your father quit immediately. I do believe that was the end of any contact between them. Plenty opportunity for bad blood.”

Jyn tipped her cup back, draining the last of the tea. Her initial theories made sense, missing details now filled in, and she had adjoining ideas to put to work.

“This helps a lot,” she quickly announced, already gathering things, getting ready to leave. “I really do appreciate it.”

She stood and breezed past an unimpressed Baze, swiftly heading for the front door.

“If you’re ever feeling selfless again, feel free to bring more pie,” Chirrut called after her, dry humor lacing his otherwise serious tone. “And, Jyn _—_  don’t do anything stupid. Nothing I wouldn’t do.”

Baze immediately turned in Jyn’s general direction and corrected: “Don’t do anything he _would_ do. Don’t want you getting arrested.”

Jyn smiled to herself as she laced up her boots, perfectly visualizing the silent, stormy exchange no doubt taking place back on the couch. As mismatched as her own socks, a visit to Baze and Chirrut always made for a bright afternoon.

“Thank you both,” she said again, halfway out the door, “you’re absolutely wonderful.”

 

/

 

Bodhi had just gotten through what had to be the weirdest shift of his career, namely an enthusiastic, thoroughly unexpected marriage proposal in the middle of the café. Four mismatched hipster-looking guys had waltzed inside, ordered far too many things at once, and occupied two booths in the middle of the room. Bodhi had brought over their orders, hesitantly accepted a too-generous tip from the tall one in glasses, and scampered back behind the counter to serve the next customer. Not two minutes later the four guests had erupted in cheers as that very hipster got down on one knee and proposed to the other hipster at his side. Generally speaking, it would have all been very romantic, if one of the men waiting at the counter hadn’t choked up, and Bodhi hadn’t had to literally call an ambulance.

As if it hadn’t been enough chaos for one day, now Jyn Erso was asking him about morality.

She was seated on the floor behind the counter, as Bodhi tiptoed around her in an attempt to actually work, trying not to step on any of her appendages. There was an urgency in her eyes, laced with childish glee, and that was enough to pick up Bodhi’s heart rate.

Then came the questions.

“You’re a good person, right?” Jyn asked, right off the bat.

Bodhi paused mid-whip as he was whisking up a fresh supply of frosting. The cinnamon rolls could wait. Vague inquiries could not.

“I think?” he offered. “ _—_  I like to think so, yes.”

“Say you had a genius plan,” she steamrolled on, “and you were one hundred and one percent sure that you could make it work _—_  but you don’t know if the other party involved would go along with it. What do you do?”

Bodhi huffed a laugh, not entirely sure where the topic was headed. He dropped the whisk in the sink and turned on the faucet with his free hand, rinsing off most of the mess.

“I’m gonna need more than that.”

Jyn rearranged herself into a more comfortable position on the floor, picking at her nails in annoyance as she tried to figure out a vague enough way to phrase her diabolical plan without it sounding _too_ diabolical.

“Okay. I want to do something good for someone I care about. Sort of like a surprise. But the thing is, I have no idea if they’ll appreciate it, or get absolutely furious at me and never speak to me again.”

Bodhi whistled. “Quite a range of outcomes.”

“ _Come on_ , work with me here.”

One calming, deep breath later, Bodhi set down his work. He glanced around the café to make sure there were no customers desperately in need of his help at the moment, then squatted down beside Jyn on the floor.

“Alright,” he began, matter-of-factly, “this is someone close to you, yes?”

“Very much so.”

“And you like to think you know them rather well?”

“I do,” Jyn insisted, then: “sort of.”

“Then if you think they’ll be happy, they’ll be happy. At the very least they will appreciate the gesture, the effort you put in.”

Jyn groaned. “No, it’s far more complicated than that. You see, it’s too damn hard to tell you what I mean without utterly spoiling the surprise. But thank you.”

She started to rise, but Bodhi took her wrist to halt her. “I think you’re a good person. Beneath all that eyeliner, maybe. So, if you think you can do something to make someone you love happy, you should do it.”

Jyn felt like she wanted to pat Bodhi on the head and tell him he’d grow out of his naivety one day, yet at the same time his words were genuine enough to bring her to the verge of glossy eyes and almost-tears. She settled on a warm smile, and squeezed Bodhi’s hand before standing up.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she promised.

Bodhi reflected her smile back at her, albeit slightly more awkward. Then, quick as lightning, his expression changed to one of horror.

“Please tell me this isn’t another surprise party for Cassian.”

“It’s not.”

“Are you sure? Because it was a literal disaster last time _—_  ”

“Bodhi, it’s _not_ ,” Jyn insisted. “Pinky promise.”

Instead, it was far worse.

 

/

 

“No,” Cassian snapped. “No way am I letting you go through with this.”

He quite literally stopped in his tracks, in the middle of the aisle, as they wove through harried holiday shoppers trying to grab the best deal.

Jyn followed suit and stopped as well. They were walking hand in hand, doing their best not to lose each other amongst the throng, and where one went, so did the other. In this case, neither was going nowhere.

“It’s not your call to make,” she informed Cassian. “Besides, I think there’s a chance this could actually work.”

“I’ll say this again,” Cassian countered, inching to the side as yet another shopper pointedly bumped into him to get him to move, “you don’t know the whole story. Your dad told you nothing, mister and mister neighbor dropped a few hints that might not even be true, and on top of it all, this is _Krennic_ we’re talking about.”

Jyn hummed irritably and pulled Cassian along with her down the aisle, towards stacks upon piles of gift wrapping accessories. It was the most secluded, least populated section they could find for a serious talk.

She picked up one roll of wrapping paper after another, twirling them around in her hands to find the most appropriate price; because what was the use of buying expensive paper that one would simply rip apart into shreds within seconds of receiving it.

“I can’t forgive myself for being this blind. All these years my father’s been alone, and I hadn’t noticed that he’s hurting. I’m an awful person.”

She slotted a roll of paper back into its spot with more force than necessary.

“No need to dramatize.”

“I’m not being dramatic,” Jyn insisted, dramatically. “This is my redemption arc. I need to fix things between me and my father. And him and his _—_  heart _—_  fuck, what am I doing?”

“Dramatizing,” Cassian concluded, and pulled Jyn along in the direction of the registers once it became apparent she’d settled on the two rolls she was currently holding.

The lines, of course, were tremendous and physically painful to look at, as they tended to be around the holiday season. Jyn wasn’t exactly in a festive mood, and the idea of sacrificing valuable time to standing in a crowd of impatient mothers and crying children wasn’t her concept of fun. Cassian at her side, however, made it a little more bearable. If only he weren’t so hard to convert.

“Alright, alright,” he was saying, “I get the thing with your father. It’s sweet. But don’t you realize _—_   _Krennic_?”

Jyn tried to rationalize. “We don’t know what kind of person he is. We know him only as a teacher.”

“And what kind of teacher is he?”

“A shitty one.”

“Then he’s a shitty person.”

Cassian looked far too smug at his deduction.

“He might not be.”

Cassian took a deep breath: in and out, in and out, trying not to get irrationally angered by the unnaturally stubborn layers of Jyn’s thick skull. “This parent-teacher encounter didn’t sound too friendly.”

“How would you react if you hadn’t seen someone for fifteen years, give or take? I’d be pissed they didn’t call.”

“Your father could have been angry for a whole other reason. I keep saying _—_ you don’t know what Krennic did.”

“Neither do you,” Jyn countered. “Krennic might not have even done anything. Chirrut said it was my father who quit the project, and moved on with his life. That’s probably what all the tension is about. So, if I could just get them to talk _—_  ”

Cassian interrupted. “ _—_  please find another way to get around to that.”

Ah, because Jyn’s plan was nothing if not utterly suicidal.

“How else do I get my father to willingly drive to school and see Krennic? _Hey, papa, remember that teacher of mine you hated at the meeting? — You two should have a nice conversation, maybe get some coffee sometime._ ”

“Anything is better than your plan A.”

“My plan A is foolproof. I can’t even get in trouble for it, because the plan _is_ to get in trouble. He’ll have to call my father, and they’ll have to talk. It’s literally the very definition of win-win.”

The line had slowly budged forward, and Jyn was next, with her wrapping paper and glimmering bows. She patted down her jeans pockets to make sure she still had the twenty she’d wadded inside before she left the house.

“And if Krennic figures out what you’re doing? Sends you straight to detention instead?”

“He won’t see this coming,” Jyn argued. “How could he possibly expect me to do something like this?”

Cassian nodded in dejected agreement. “ _I_ certainly wouldn’t expect you to pull something like that. You’re not one to get involved.”

Jyn dropped her items on the conveyor belt and looked up at Cassian with a scrunched-up frown. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That dear Krennic will never see you coming,” Cassian said, acceding. It was one thing to try to stand up to Jyn and her big, brown doe eyes, and another thing to actually succeed in such an endeavor.

The cashier swiped her items and tossed them haphazardly into a recyclable plastic bag, and took Jyn’s crumbled bill with tired disdain. She paid it no mind as she grabbed her purchases and the change, and finally headed out the sliding front doors with Cassian trailing behind her. It was delightful to finally have his support, however begrudging.

The snow was coming down full force now, whirlwinds of white specks swirling about everywhere in sight. They made their way across the parking lot to Cassian’s car in close proximity, huddling for warmth as the white wonderland tipped the temperature below freezing.

“You know,” Cassian mused aloud, as he unlocked the driver’s seat door, “let’s just hope this venture of yours doesn’t get you expelled.”

Jyn flashed a grin from the other side, and ducked inside the car before Cassian had a chance to change his mind about her plan. She turned up the heating the moment Cassian turned the keys in the ignition, and kicked off her boots for the full passenger experience, settling her feet up on the dash. Cassian knew better than to chide her at this point, and clicked on the radio in silence.

They had a long drive ahead.


	3. Chapter 3

_“You literally just pulled me into a storage closet,” Galen said, the moment his back hit the wall of the storage closet he was literally just pulled into._

_Krennic nearly rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to yell at you out there — ”_

_“Oh, you’re going to yell at me, yes?”_

_“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”_

_Krennic ground his teeth together, forcibly keeping back all the words he wanted to spit into Galen’s face. He was thoroughly exhausted with being treated like a second choice, maybe a third. Because Galen had priorities._

_“Lyra’s in critical condition,” Galen fired back, and his voice was a low growl, a threat and a warning. “I’m so far from home and she needs me. Jyn needs me. I have to take care of them both.”_

_Krennic couldn’t seem to find it within himself to feel sympathetic. It was as if a linking thread had snapped back when Galen graduated: separating the two of them, and separating Krennic from any semblance of rational thought when it came to Galen._

_“But you’ll come back?”_

_Galen’s tortured expression fell suddenly blank, and he pushed away from the wall, instead crowding Krennic against the opposite side. It was a game of leverage._

_“How dare you?” he hissed. “My wife is terminally ill, my baby daughter is alone with no one to tend to her, and you’re asking me if I’ll come back to you? — When? When do you want me to come back to you, Orson? When she’s dead?”_

_“I never said that,” Krennic managed to get in, before Galen took another towering step forward, their small difference in height accentuated by the tension. In the near-dark, Galen glaring down at Krennic with no small degree of fury was enough to intimidate anyone. It was just as lucky that Krennic wasn’t afraid. “I’m only asking if you’ll want to return.”_

_“I’m not your property, Krennic, so you can do with me as you will. I’m not yours. You’re not mine. We haven’t belonged to each other in a very long time.”_

_Krennic said nothing, freezing in place before whatever he was going to say made it past his lips. He seemed to deflate, the fight leaving him by the second._

_Galen continued, “And you’re hung up over that, and I understand. But you have to come to terms with it.”_

_“I’ve been trying to,” Krennic muttered. “Still, I had hope.”_

_“That I would come back to you, just like that?” Galen guessed, humored by the very implication. “You never did like Lyra, but this kind of jealousy is above you.”_

_“She doesn’t like me very much either. Never did,” Krennic countered, an inkling of a smile slipping into his voice. “ — I’m sorry, Galen. I’m selfish.”_

_“You are.”_

_There was a moment of silence, a magnetic pull coaxing them towards each other for one last embrace before Galen disappeared, possibly forever. It never happened. It dissolved as quickly as it’d appeared._

_“Never doubt that you mean a lot to me,” Galen said. It wasn’t a promise. It was a goodbye._

_“But she means more.”_

_Despite Krennic’s words, their attempt at hooking and reeling him back in, Galen didn’t want to fight any longer. “Of course she does. She’s family, Krennic. She and Jyn, they’re my family now. Nothing means more to me than their wellbeing.”_

_Krennic smiled, wide and cruel, and took Galen’s hand in his own in a firm shake._

_“Well, then. Good luck on your new path in life, Doctor Erso.”_

_With that the door opened, and he was gone._

 

/

 

Jyn had done exactly no studying the night before, instead laid flat on her bed with Cassian at her side for hours in the dark, watching the snow cover the world in a white blanket outside the window.

He’d tried to talk her out of the damned plan once more at one point, but Jyn Erso was as stubborn as they came. He’d said, “You ought to know more. Poke around a little. Ask your dad, as vaguely as possible.” To which Jyn had said, “I tried. After the meeting. He told me it was complicated, and that was the end of that topic.” And they’d lapsed back into perfect silence. It was the end of that topic.

Cassian had left before Galen had come back upstairs after closing, and Jyn had gone to sleep, far too excited about waking up the next morning.

Which was why, when Orson Krennic called her to the whiteboard to solve the equation he’d scribbled down with an almost-dry blue marker, she stalked across the classroom with exactly zero intention of doing the math. Starting now, it was all for show.

She took the marker from his outstretched hand, sure to make daring, pointedly insolent eye contact. Step one _—_  get on his bad side. Or worse side, as he didn’t like her very much to begin with. Just wind him up, and watch him go.

Jyn stepped back to analyze the chicken scratch Krennic called handwriting, tapping the marker thoughtfully on her chin. That was one thing he and her father had in common: exceptionally unintelligible penmanship. Not exactly soul-bonding.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” she announced finally, when she was sure Krennic was about to start tapping his foot in impatience. “Sorry.”

She dropped the marker on his desk, where it fell with a clatter, then swiveled on her heel and walked back to her desk in the back. None of her classmates paid much mind to the display; no one bothered to pay attention to the lecture anyway.

It wasn’t until she’d sat down, scraping her chair against the cheap flooring as she scooted closer to her desk, that Krennic chose to comment:

“This, Ms. Erso, and the failed exam last month, is leading me to believe you’re not too keen on passing this semester. Let’s hope your essay is worth something, at the very least,” came the self-satisfied drawl. Jyn had trouble refraining herself from rolling her eyes into a different dimension, let alone imagining her father in an actual, functioning relationship with this man.

With that, he invited another student up front to solve what Jyn didn’t.

Jyn took that as the perfect opportunity to close her textbook and rummage through her bag for a long, loud minute, fishing out her lunch. Grilled sandwich, crispy. Bag of chips, crunchy. Can of Pepsi, explosive when opened. All premediated, annoying foods, sure to draw Krennic’s typically unwanted attention. In this case, however, very _wanted_.

She cracked the can open and it clicked with the telltale hiss of gas. She’d considered shaking it beforehand, but the innocents sitting within close proximity didn’t deserve to get dampened. She ripped open the pack of chips for maximum noise, and promptly bit into her toast.

It took less than a minute for Krennic to notice, narrowing his eyes in her direction as the student he’d called to the board returned to his chair.

“Hungry, are we?”

Jyn looked up, faking surprise at getting caught. She finished chewing and wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “I forgot to have breakfast.”

Krennic pursed his lips. “A disappointing excuse. I’m sure you’ll survive twenty minutes. We’d hate for you to miss any of the lecture.” He pointedly raised his eyebrows, nodding towards her picnic, and made a swatting motion to imply she was meant to put it all away.

Jyn didn’t. “I’m almost done,” she lied, because she’d only started, “I’d hate to waste any of this.”

One exasperated intake of breath later, Krennic was saying, “Ms. Erso _—_  ”

“No, really,” Jyn interrupted, through a mouthful of Doritos, “I can eat and pay attention at the same time. I eat while studying all the time at home. Works great.”

“Your grades don’t seem to reflect it,” Krennic countered, as professionally as he could muster without coming off as blatantly rude. “For the last time, Ms. Erso _—_  ”

He didn’t have a chance to finish, as Jyn’s phone chose that moment to ring, blaring a specially-selected punk rock chorus throughout the classroom. Cassian, just on time.

To everyone’s surprise, especially dear Krennic’s, Jyn wiped the excess Dorito dust on her jeans and picked up. Krennic was visibly livid, jaw clenched, no doubt on the verge of drop-kicking her into the hall. But that would have been unseemly of an academic professional, after all.

“He-llo,” Jyn sing-songed into the receiver, then: “Oh, sure, I can talk now. I’m not too busy.”

She caught Krennic’s eye and motioned towards her phone, apologetically sending him the universal, nonverbal communique for _I Have To Take This_. 

Cassian, on the other end, muttered, “I can’t believe I’m doing this for you.”

“And just on time,” Jyn answered cheerily, loudly, disrupting the lesson, sending numerous classmates into giggles at the sight of Krennic’s perceivably growing fury.

“If you get expelled,” Cassian muttered tiredly, “please remember I tried to warn you. Now, hang up, that’s enough attention.”

“Alright, alright,” Jyn sighed ostentatiously. “Bye, dear. Love you.”

She clicked the call off and set her phone on her desk, pretending to go about her business until the uneasy silence in the classroom drew her to lift her head. Krennic was wholly unimpressed, staring down at her from his spot up front.

Finally, “If you’re all finished now, you can bring your phone here,” Krennic said, tapping his desk with his right hand. “Your father can pick it up when he comes by later today. We’re going to have to have a talk about your behavior.”

Jyn tried not to literally jump with joy at that statement, instead masking her glee behind a look of pure contempt, as she trudged towards Krennic. She set her phone down, considering it a tiny sacrifice in face of the victory she’d just assured.

And when the bell rang, she scurried out of the class and excitably ran across the campus to find Cassian waiting out front, just as promised. After all, she was the bearer of fucking fantastic news.

Step two _—_   _wait_.

 

/

 

It had been three minutes since Galen had received a dire phone call in the back room, and was now in an anxiety-induced frenzy trying to gather his bearings before he had to leave. He couldn’t imagine leaving Bodhi in charge of the café, all alone.

Bodhi couldn't exactly blame him.

Chirrut had been leaning against the counter for near an hour, interfering with every customer Bodhi had tried to politely serve, making recommendations and dissuading everyone from buying the Danish rolls. A nuisance, personified.

It wasn’t until Galen emerged from the back, clearly troubled, that Chirrut’s demeanor changed.

“Everything alright, Galen?” he asked, sincerely.

“Yes,” Galen lied. “I mean _—_  yes, I’m fine. Bodhi,” he added, turning to the man in question, “could you, maybe, watch the place for a few hours. Slow business, you should be fine.”

“Should be,” Bodhi echoed emptily.

“I’ll watch after the boy,” Chirrut assured Galen, butting into business that most certainly did not concern him. For once, his interference was gladly accepted.

“That’d be wonderful,” Galen exhaled. “Thank you. I have to get going now.”

Chirrut repeated his question before Galen could slip out of earshot. “Are you going to keep pretending everything is alright? We could do with some reassurance here.”

Bodhi nodded in agreement, albeit with less gusto than Chirrut had spoken.

“Jyn got into some trouble at school,” Galen explained hurriedly, struggling to undo the knot at the back of his apron. He was being overdramatic, as the Ersos had a tendency to be. “I’ve been summoned.”

“By who?” Chirrut asked, innocently.

Galen, in his state of distress, blurted out the single word, “Krennic,” before falling silent. He never quite remembered how much he’d told Baze and Chirrut when they’d gotten him piss drunk on their couch on his fiftieth birthday. He may have said too much altogether.

Chirrut feigned ignorance, and shrugged. He didn’t know the specifics, after all, but Jyn’s insistent questions and Galen’s disheveled behavior were correlated enough to put two and two together.

“Don’t worry, boss,” Bodhi chirped up, “I’ll make sure everything runs smoothly while you’re gone. I’ll even close up.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Chirrut said, and ha-ha, that was positively hilarious. Galen gave him a deadpan look, despite Chirrut being unable to see it.

“And I’ll keep an eye on him,” Baze added, sticking his thumb out in Chirrut’s direction. He’d just come in from outside, enough snowflakes in his hair to cover the café floor, if he were to shake it out like a wet dog. Galen silently prayed he wouldn’t.

“I don’t need to be looked after,” Chirrut insisted, before Galen had a chance to explain to Baze exactly who was looking after who and for what reason.

“Tell that to the guy who almost pressed charges last week,” Baze snapped. “Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

Bodhi and Galen side-eyed each other. Neither wanted to know.

“Right,” Galen finally spoke up, breaking the silence. “Please leave the place in one piece. Saw’s coming in with an extra delivery at five.”

Bodhi nodded, making a big, bright mental note to have someone else open the back door for the delivery man from hell, who gave him nightmares with his cryptic words and unsettling eyes. Still, he said, “No problem, boss.”

“Everything will more or less be as you left it,” Chirrut promised, his ominous parting words following Galen as he threw on his coat and left the café.

The moment the door slammed shut, Baze turned on Bodhi. “Bring that peach pie over here.”

 

/

 

Having been properly chided for her behavior in the presence of her father, Jyn was asked to wait out in the corridor, leaving Galen and Krennic alone in the classroom. She stalked to a line of plastic chairs across the hall, where Cassian was waiting to offer moral support. It really was a mystery how he found the time to hang around his old haunts in between his no-doubt stressful college classes, just to suit’s Jyn’s fancies. She appreciated it, wholeheartedly, though she was shit at showing it. She sat down next to him, and neither exchanged a single word, instead taking each other’s hands in comforting silence.

 

/

 

“Did you really call me here to talk about Jyn?” Galen demanded, the moment the door was closed.

Krennic pushed his chair back and stood. “Actually, I did. Your little one really was out of line today.”

Galen seemed to have trouble believing the concept. More plausible was the idea that Krennic was playing the opposite of favorites. It all boiled down to their history, in the end. “That didn’t sound like something she'd do."

“A bad day, maybe? We’re all known to have those. We _—_  humans _—_  generally,” he clarified, before Galen could think too deeply into the meaning of the words. “Or,” he considered, “it was intentional. To annoy me. What did you tell her?”

They were on opposite sides of the desk, staring each other down with an unimaginable intensity. Still, there was something missing.

“About what?”

“About us,” Krennic snapped. “Don’t play the fool. If there’s something you want to settle, don’t send your daughter after me, don’t have her undermine my authority on some sacrificial crusade for her father.”

Galen was shaking his head in distaste. “Listen to yourself, Krennic. You sound delusional.”

“What did you tell her?” Krennic repeated. He stepped around the desk, stalked over to Galen until they were less than two feet apart. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, trembling with unrepressed emotion.

Galen met his eyes. “Nothing. I didn’t tell her anything. I didn’t send her after you, but I apologize for her behavior, and will do everything in my power to find out what happened to cause it. Now, if that’s all -- ”

He trailed off, turning his back to Krennic and walking towards the door. Halfway there, he was stopped, Krennic grabbing his wrist and disabling his dramatic exit.

“I’m sorry,” Krennic forced out. “You don’t have to go yet.”

“Jyn is waiting,” Galen said. “Besides, I do think we’ve exhausted the topic.”

“We have more to discuss. Twenty years’ worth.”

Galen scoffed, a low, humored sound in the back of his throat. “Now is not the time nor place for reminiscing. I’ll come for coffee sometime, we’ll talk.”

“You won’t.”

The certainty in Krennic’s voice shook something within Galen, awakened memories he’d rather have kept repressed. How quiet Orson would get when he was disheartened, how negative actions sparked even stronger negative reactions, how he’d get blackout drunk in fear of crying himself to sleep instead.

“You’re right,” Galen said anyway, though he knew the words would sting, “I probably wouldn’t.”

Krennic waited a few seconds, biting at his lower lip from the inside, and let go of Galen’s wrist. “Go, then. I won’t hold you back again.”

Whether it was a play for sympathy or not, Galen took the lure and fired back, “Oh? You have a history of holding _me_ back? Do elaborate.”

It was too late to backtrack now, even if both of them had wanted to. But years’ worth of conflict was agonizing to keep bottled up, and once the first floodgate opened, the rest followed suit.

Krennic barked out a humorless laugh. “The Institute. You left in such a hurry, Galen, the moment you got the chance. You must have been itching to get away from the start.”

“Lyra’s dead, Orson,” Galen snapped, raising his voice with unbridled disgust, “is that what you wanted to hear? I left in a hurry, as you say, to be at her side when it happened. To raise my daughter. All you’ve done is run yourself into the ground; into a bitter, emotionless void. Go ahead and pity yourself _—_  but not because of what I’ve done to you, but what you’ve done to yourself.”

“You abandoned me,” Krennic hissed, “not once, but _twice_. And now again.”

“I don’t belong to you.”

“No, of course you don’t,” Krennic protested. “I never said you did, Galen. What I _am_ saying, however, is that it would have been nice if, _even once_ , you’d taken my feelings into consideration.”

“I did what was necessary.”

“My condolences about Lyra,” Krennic added offhandedly, “I never reached out when I’d heard and I regret it. I should have been there for you, but I was blinded by spite.”

 _You still are_ , Galen didn’t say. “Thank you.”

When it seemed as though the fire had stopped raging, and that their half-yelled argument had run its course, Krennic spoke up again, blatantly refusing to let their long-gone past go.

“You could have come back. After. You had so much potential. I’ve never met anyone with so much potential. All gone to waste.”

Galen raised his eyebrows in surprise, tilting his head as if he’d misheard. “Excuse me?”

Krennic frowned, innocently. The true weight of words didn’t register with him: he didn’t realize that what he’d said, that his intentions however sincere, would have sounded like a jab to anyone else.

“What exactly, Orson, are you calling a waste?”

Krennic started to say something, changed his mind and clamped his mouth shut before starting again. “You’re the most brilliant mind I’ve ever met. From the moment I met you, I was in awe. I wanted to be you, but I couldn’t, so I wanted to have you. All that _—_  and you’ve resigned to a career as glorified barista.”

Galen’s whisper was cold, hardly audible from behind his clenched teeth. “It was Lyra’s everything, the café. She put everything she had into building it, all her savings, all her love. It was supposed to be our home. All three of us. How could I have given that up? Let _that_ go to waste?"

Krennic’s voice was quiet, he sounded almost broken. “I’m egoistical, I know that. I’m hurling accusations at you, and I’m aware of that, too. But you’re not without fault, Galen. You _—_  you never reached out, either. You never called. You never tried to contact me after you left. Is it delusional to say you’d abandoned me? Your friend? Your _—_  ” He took a shaky breath. “I thought I was going to be sick when I first saw your daughter’s name on my list. I drank myself stupid that night. It was too much, the thought that our paths crossing once again was an utter coincidence. That you never intentionally wanted to see me again.”

“I never said that, Orson,” Galen cut in, before Krennic could break down into a shaking mess in the middle of his own classroom. “I never _—_  ”

“You never what?”

“ _I don’t know what you want me to say_ ,” Galen shouted, finally breaking through his self-control and raising his tone. He didn’t consider if anyone in the hall had heard, he didn’t care. He wanted answers beyond Krennic’s cryptic allegations, he wanted peace of mind; to finally put a stop to the constant string of _what ifs_ hammering at his mind.

“Say what you want. Say what you want to say.”

“What do _you_ want to say?” Galen snapped. “You’re obviously so very eager to _—_  ”

“I missed you,” Krennic interrupted, voice hardly above a whisper. His restraint had reached its limit. “I missed you and I hated myself for it, hated every second of it since the moment you disappeared. I tried not to. I tried, but I never stopped _—_  I never came to terms with you leaving. That’s all I have to say.”

He was looking at the floor, breathing heavily in erratic gusts of air. Galen stayed silent for long enough for Krennic to speak again.

“You’re free to go. I’ll walk you to the door.”

That seemed to snap Galen out of his trance. “No need to overplay the self-pity.”

Krennic glanced up, blue eyes glazed over with pathetic tears threatening to spill over. It was the most inopportune time to show weakness, to show that after everything he still cared. He hated that the most.

He forced a bitter, tight-lipped smile, watching Galen with resignation. “Door’s unlocked. You can walk out anytime. Right now, even. Don’t drag this out more than you need to.”

There were limits as to how much of Krennic’s horrid babbling anyone could possibly bear, even Galen, who’d spent years mastering the art of blissfully ignoring the nonsense. At night in their dorm, sprawled against the pillows, attempting to study, cancelling out the background noise _—_  Orson’s drunken muttering, waxing poetic at the stars outside the window.

Galen knew there was only one way he could shut him up; he took those dreaded steps forward and pressed his lips to Krennic’s, taking in the familiar heat, the sudden rigid terror freezing Krennic in place, the way it took him no more than a few milliseconds to melt against Galen in an aching tremor. His hands were pressed into Galen’s chest, clinging desperately, and he was hanging on as if Galen were a lifeline and he himself was drowning. Galen’s hands flitted to Krennic’s face as he swallowed his desperate gasp, tugging him closer, thumbs digging into the hollows of Krennic’s jaw in a desperation he hadn’t even realized he’d been feeling for years.

It wasn’t until they parted that Krennic allowed himself to remember to breathe, having been too afraid to break apart in fear of Galen disappearing again. He kept his fingers wrapped in Galen’s jacket, as if physically grounding himself in this reality would keep him there forever.

“Don’t go,” he finally muttered. “Please, Galen, don’t _—_  ”

“I won’t,” Galen promised, then pulled away. “But Jyn’s waiting outside.”

And just like that, the illusion shattered, shards of paradise scattering across the cheap linoleum flooring.

But where there was a will, there was a way.

Krennic, no small amount of snark in his voice, brushed past Galen on his way towards the door. “She’ll understand.”

 

/

 

Jyn had almost fallen asleep on Cassian’s shoulder, hardly bothered by the occasional shout from inside the classroom. They were unintelligible, whatever insults they were flinging at each other, and Jyn had expected the confrontation to begin with a touch of hostility, after all.

It wasn’t until the lock on the classroom door clicked, shutting the inhabitants inside, that she jerked away, meeting Cassian’s eyes with a burning terror. The intention was self-explanatory, and she grabbed at her backpack and jacket in hopes of fleeing the scene as fast as humanly possible, to avoid unsavory imagery she could never erase from her mind.

Cassian followed suit, chasing after her down the desolate corridors, their steps echoing about the walls, until they broke through the double doors, and into the freezing winter air.

Jyn stopped for breath, heaving as she tossed her bag to the ground, resting her head against Cassian's chest. He brought one hand up to her hair, threading his fingers through the strands in an attempt at consolation. Her father’s and Krennic’s aim was crystal clear. They were lucky to have gotten out of there unscarred.

Moments later, Jyn’s entire body was shaking with near-hysterical laughter, at the hilarity of the situation, at the odds of the plan actually succeeding. She wrapped her arms around Cassian’s neck and he promptly pulled her into an embrace, ducking his head into the crook of her shoulder. She was insane, his rebel, she was unpredictable and immeasurably wonderful, and she’d won.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this bad boy is a teeny bit shorter, so i've dubbed it THE EPILOGUE
> 
> hope y'all enjoyed [blows kissy]

Jyn woke up to fourteen texts and twice as many missed calls from Bodhi, and that was the second time in as many days that she realized something was off.

Her legs tangled in the sheets as she struggled to sit up, nearly toppling off the side of the bed once or twice. Eventually, phone in hand, she unlocked the screen with the same passcode she’d been using for years, dreading whatever ill news was awaiting her this early in the morning.

She skimmed through the texts, swearing under her breath, and called Bodhi.

He picked up on the first ring. “There’s a problem.”

“Yeah,” Jyn started, stifling a yawn. “I can see.”

“You _—_  did you only just wake up?”

Jyn scoffed, and replied indignantly, “ _No_. Besides, it’s only _—_  ” she trailed off, lowering her phone to look at the time. “ _Fuck_ , it’s half past eight. Where is he?”

“You so did just wake up,” Bodhi laughed, though his voice was just as tense as before. “I’m waiting downstairs.”

“I’ll be right there.”

The problem was as follows: it was thirty whole minutes past opening time, and Galen Erso was nowhere to be found, or so Bodhi claimed. Jyn slid off her bed, dizzily jogging out of her room, and into her father’s. As predicted, his bed was as perfectly made as it’d been the day before, not a crease or irregularity in sight. He hadn’t come home the previous night. Jyn held back a hysterical giggle and backtracked, returning to her room, carelessly peeling off her pajamas as she went.

Not exactly a high-maintenance individual, she was out the back door and meeting Bodhi in front of the locked café doors within ten minutes, unwashed hair in a haphazard bun, ratty old jeans and ratty old t-shirt under her coat.

“Where’s Galen?” Bodhi demanded, as Jyn expertly selected the right key from a too-large ring. She opened the top and bottom locks and pushed inside, Bodhi following suit as she typed in the security code on the alarm box. They were lucky there were no waiting clients outside, yelling and wielding pitchforks in response to poor customer service.

“Not in his room,” Jyn explained. “Didn’t come home last night.”

It was hard to be ambiguous about the whole thing, especially since her plan had gone utterly perfectly and she had a hard time keeping her childish glee to herself. Besides, Bodhi was a friend, and he deserved answers as much as anyone.

She turned to face him, Bodhi’s face expectant as if he’d literally been waiting for an elaboration.

“He _—_  stayed the night. With someone else,” Jyn said. That was putting it delicately. “Or he’s dead in a ditch somewhere, but I think I’m a good enough judge of character not to let my father wander off with the wrong sort.”

 Bodhi stopped midway through stashing his jacket into the tiny employees’ locker room closet. “Was that your plan? What you were asking about earlier?”

Jyn was suddenly very interested in washing her hands. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You wanted to set your father up with someone?”

There was a smudge of something dirty above one of her knuckles, and Jyn pointedly averted the question in an attempt to scrub it off.

Bodhi kept badgering, thinking back to Galen’s hurried departure the previous afternoon. He played his best card. “Who’s Krennic?”

As expected, that got her attention. She picked her head up, careful not to bang it on the overhead cabinets. Again.

“How do you know about Krennic?”

Bodhi deflected, answering her question with his own. “Is he your teacher?”

“Possibly. Why?”

Bodhi snapped back to attention, and started going about clicking on the various display lights and refrigerators behind the counter. They were chitchatting while clientele could march in any minute, demanding baked goods. Regardless of Galen’s absence, Bodhi’s other boss was present, however distracted, and he needed to make a good impression. Or wanted to, at the very least.

“See, Galen ran out in such a hurry yesterday. Said you got in trouble,” Bodhi explained. “He mentioned someone named Krennic. I just _—_  assumed. But now you’re jumpy, and I’m putting two and two together, and that’s the big mystery. You set your dad up with your teacher.”

Jyn stood, frozen, as Bodhi bustled around her. Not only had she painfully overslept, she was now being no help whatsoever.

“Look,” she began. Honesty was the best policy, and Bodhi deserved as much. “They _—_  uh, Krennic and my father _—_  they knew each other a long time ago. At school. When they were our age. I found out about that, and hatched a stupid little plan that actually worked.”

Her voice pitched upwards at the end, the somewhat irrational excitement getting the better of her. Maybe she was being overdramatic, completely overreacting, but she was happy for her father, and that was all that mattered. Though, she could do without the mental image of him and Krennic _—_   _no, thank you_.

“You’re making me nervous,” Bodhi announced. “You’re smiling too much.”

Jyn turned to him, her grin hardly faded. “Oh, come on, this is great news.”

“You’re quick to assume,” Bodhi said, brutally honest, and wholly correct. “But if it’s all the same, congratulations on your evil accomplishment.”

Jyn curtsied with an overdone bow, one arm extended gracefully as she bent down to gather her applause. Bodhi shook his head at her antics and went back to work. Jyn clearly required an additional few minutes to organize her overexcited thoughts. She was still slightly dreary, movements dragging out as sleep refused to leave her. Overall, a dangerous combination.

It wasn’t until Jyn’s text tone rang out through the empty room, followed by her echoing, uproarious laughter, that Bodhi considered truly fearing for his life. He could probably imagine who the message was from, and what it concerned.

“Fuck _—_   _Bodhi_ ,” Jyn was managing between fits of wheezes. “He says he was _otherwise occupied_. Fuck. Oh, _fuck_. He’s sorry he didn’t make it _—_  oh, fuck, I’m gonna lose it, this is the fucking funniest thing that’s happened in my life.”

Somewhat concerned, Bodhi peeked out from the back room, where he’d been defrosting pastries in the oven, and found Jyn was nowhere in sight. There were muffled giggles from behind the counter, so he quickly assumed she was merely rolling on the floor in hysteria. Had he not needed help later on in the day, he would have sent her back upstairs for a nice, long nap.

Her phone, however, was unlocked atop the counter, Galen’s message lit up on the screen.

 **from** : _papa_ [8:58 AM]

_I’m sorry I gave you no heads up, Stardust. I was otherwise occupied last night. I’ll be back before noon._

 

/

 

He wasn’t.

Galen Erso had woken up around quarter to nine, in a vastly different bed, in a relatively unfamiliar bedroom. He could somewhat recall fragments from the previous evening, which’d been lucky, because a full tabletop of empty wine glasses had been the dominating feature. The rational part of his mind had typed up a quick text to his daughter, thankful for autocorrect fixing his hangover-induced, impaired movements. But the bed had been warm, the curtains expertly blacking out the daylight, and Galen had drifted right back off to sleep within minutes.

 

Someone was talking. A voice drifting in and out of focus, increasing in volume and coherency. And then, like a switch had been flicked, everything came crashing back. Every memory, every thought and sensation racing back into focus.

Galen opened his eyes and immediately squinted at the too-bright sun flooding in through the window. The pleasant shroud of the curtains was gone, and Galen considered personally throttling whoever was responsible.

It was lucky the culprit was perched at the edge of the bed. One Orson Krennic, a tad too self-satisfied for his own good, half sitting and half leaning towards Galen, clearly waiting for him to snap back to consciousness. Oh, that’s who’d been talking.

“There he is,” Krennic said, when Galen’s eyes finally focused enough to comprehend exactly where he was. “I was worried you’d had too much last night. Hell knows we’re both too old for this sort of thing. Could have died mid-bottle.”

He was too fast, changing topics too quickly for Galen’s mind to catch up. He needed to wake up step by step. “What time is it?”

Krennic huffed. “Nearly noon. No, wait _—_  five past. You have one text from someone named Stardust, though I’m assuming that’s your Jyn. She says, and I quote, _‘ok’._ ”

Even with his sleep-muddled mind, Galen could tell this was the other, less-known side of Krennic, that only ever surfaced when he was well and truly comfortable. No one to please, no one to manipulate to do his bidding. Just relaxed, lazy smiles, and far too much talking. That, however, could have been the sheer level of alcohol consumption.

“I’ll need to call her,” Galen grumbled. “It’s late.”

“She said she’s fine,” Krennic said, snatching Galen’s phone off the bedside table before he could make a grab for it. It was less about dissuading Galen from contacting his daughter and more _Keeping Galen To Himself For As Long As Humanly Possible_. “Now,” Krennic continued, pushing himself up, “breakfast?”

Galen made a sort of affirmative grunt.

The bed dipped as Krennic got up, and Galen watched him walk across the room in a surprisingly straight line. Some had higher tolerance than others, and judging by the size of Krennic’s liquor cabinets (plural), it was rational enough that he was just peachy. That, or he’d been awake for hours, throwing up in a distant bathroom so Galen couldn’t hear. Not that he would have, out cold as he’d been. Either way, Galen didn’t care enough to ask.

“Then get up, dear,” Krennic called, from beyond the hallway, “No breakfast in bed at this hour.”

The smell from the kitchen was heavenly, and especially so to Galen’s depraved senses. He was starving. He could hardly remember the last thing he’d put in his mouth that wasn’t wine. No, actually, he _could_ , but he hardly considered that food.

It took longer than he’d have liked, but Galen managed to maneuver over to the aforementioned room, stumbling only slightly, using the crisp off-white walls as support. Krennic’s apartment was a major step up from the pigsty his half of their dorm had been. Galen was almost impressed.

It wasn’t until he saw Krennic bustling around the stove in his pajamas that he realized he himself was horribly underdressed. Somewhere along the way to the kitchen he’d passed yesterday’s clothes on the floor, but hadn’t quite processed his thoughts enough to put them on.

Krennic, of course, noticed the hesitation. “There’s a robe on the chair,” he said, motioning over with his spatula, “thought you might need it.”

Galen huffed a quiet laugh. A very different, new side of Krennic, indeed.

He sat, wrapped and cozy, and watched Krennic flip a serving of scrambled eggs on the pan. It was an unusual sight, and the question slipped out, unbidden:

“Do you cook for all your one night stands?”

And the penny dropped. Krennic froze, as comical as it looked: spatula in one hand, salt shaker in the other, raggedy hair and utterly no expression upon his face. Whatever he’d been expecting from Galen, it wasn’t that.

He set down what he’d been holding and turned to the side, leaning against the countertop. His hands were idle at his sides, as though he wasn’t exactly sure what to do with them.

“Is that what this is?” he demanded, and his tone had definitely fallen serious.

Galen paused. He examined the lines on Krennic’s face, every inch of skin, and finally met his eyes. As easy to offend as ever.

“ _—_  because I’d really hoped _—_  ” Krennic was saying, irritably, and Galen thought it best to interrupt before the scrambled eggs went flying about the kitchen.

“I was joking,” he assured him. “A joke, Orson. Humorous one-liner. Supposed to make one laugh, and or crack a smile. Not to be taken personally.”

“Yes, thank you for the definition.”

Krennic turned his attention back to the breakfast, picking up the spatula once more. A beat passed and he changed his mind, setting everything right back down and switching off the stovetop.

“Actually _—_  ”

He turned on Galen, crossing the kitchen in a few quick strides. Rather than sit across from him, Krennic pulled up a chair and positioned himself not one foot away. It was quite a display of direct confrontation, all things considered.

“ _—_  I think I’d like to know where we stand here.”

Galen simply looked at Krennic as Krennic, in turn, watched him. Of the two of them, Krennic was far more restless: upper lip between his teeth, a nervous habit, a shadow of a frown creasing his forehead. Galen breathed in.

“I wasn’t trying to offend you.”

“ _No, I know, I know, I know_ ,” Krennic quickly snapped. His expression softened, as if he’d realized he was giving off the wrong impression. “I was quick to make that assumption. But now that we _—_  I just want to know what you want.”

“And what do you want?”

“No. Stop that, Galen. You first.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked you first.” It was a childish game, but then it’d started when they were children, so why not finish it the same way, let it run a full circle. Krennic tilted his head infinitesimally, dropping eye contact. “Besides, you know what I want.”

And that, Galen did know. Orson had never been too forthcoming about his feelings, except those that pertained to Galen Erso. Those were an open book, with little pink hearts doodled in the margins.

“I want,” Galen started, and leaned in. “Two things.”

Krennic swallowed.

“First, since you’re dying to hear it, I’m willing to try this again. This _—_  everything. With you. I want you.”

There was a split second where it seemed Krennic had experienced thorough heart failure. He didn’t move, his face crumpled like a child who’d lost his favorite toy. He was on the verge of tears, teetering over the precipice, and Galen had a suspicion it was nothing but unadulterated happiness. Orson Krennic, finally getting what he’d always wanted.

It only seemed right to seal it with a kiss. Galen tipped forward, one hand cupping the back of Krennic’s neck to pull him closer. Krennic’s eagerness wasn’t reflected in roaming hands or hungry bites, rather a near-shivering intensity with which he kissed back, his own fingers barely ghosting the fabric of Galen’s robe, as if he didn’t dare to touch.

“And two,” Galen muttered, their lips still mere centimeters apart. “I want you to take that pan off the stove before you burn the house down.”

As if on demand, the smell of burning eggs hit Krennic like a speeding train, and he shot up with a strangled, “ _Shit_.”

Maybe he was still a mess, under the new, pristine visage he’d adopted, and maybe it was just as well. Galen couldn’t find it within himself to care, as long as it was _him_.

In its own way, however strange and twisted, that was enough.

 

And the next time Jyn asked, to make sure, “Everything alright, papa?” Galen could reply with complete and utter honesty, that is was.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [twitter ](http://www.twitter.com/finaiizer)
> 
> some bad space dads on 8tracks: [instigate](https://8tracks.com/finalizer/instigate)


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